Cerulean Blue
by AxidentlGoddess
Summary: ROFC. Three years after the escape from the monsters Riddick’s life has changed. He’s been given a new life, a new start, a new job. And now his world’s about to be turned upside down again by a pair of strange, blue eyes…
1. Chapter 1

AN: Something different, I hope. Please take it all with an open mind and feel more than free to hit me back about it. I adore feedback and suggestions. They're half the reason why I do this. PB fic, and no COR. There may be some OOCness for Rid, but it's more of a different take…And don't worry, I'm not stopping my other fic...in fact, I've got most of the next chapter done. I've just gone insane and am attemtpting to write two at once...

Disclaimer: If I actually owned the Riddick-verse don't you think I'd be a lot busier cozying up to the star? Yeah. Damn, now I'm sad I don't…

Summary: Three years after the escape from the monsters Riddick's life has changed. He's been given a new life, a new start, a new job. And now his world's about to be turned upside down again by a pair of strange, blue eyes…

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**Cerulean Blue**

**Chapter 1:**

_**Independent**_

Ge'roon 2 is not a planet to be sneezed at. While perhaps not the most distant or dangerous or lawless of the Outer Rim planets Ge'roon 2 held its own particular brands of danger. The first of which was the native population; a thin, wispy, wraithlike breed they fed upon death and dying things. And they didn't always seem to care if you were completely dead before they began to eat you. But despite their rather gruesome nature and ghostly appearance they were rather well controlled and kept away from the human population of the planet. They were only really dangerous when they formed packs or swarms and that only happened once in a great while, usually far away from the main cities. It hadn't taken the humans long to learn not to stray from the city, especially at night as the natives were mostly nocturnal.

Appropriately, the second unique danger was the planet's night itself. The planet was one of only three that circled a white dwarf, the leftovers of a star gone supernova at some point in the distant past, and as such the days were short and the nights were long. Day light was faint and washed out lasting only about five hours or so while the night lasted a good eighteen. As an added bonus, Ge'roon 2 had only one, small moon that was in fact quite some distance away from the planet and would probably spin itself completely out of orbit in another millennia or so. As such, the nights were quite dark as well as long with only faint moon light at best and the tiny pricks of starlight blanketing the sky.

But perhaps the most dangerous feature of all was the human population itself. Ge'roon 2 had originally been a prison colony reminiscent of the formation of Australia on Old Earth. It wasn't a hard-line Slam, but instead housed low to lower-medium offenders. That didn't make them less dangerous, though. Just because you got caught on a thieving charge didn't mean you hadn't killed a few people in your past, or that you were a nice guy. Fact of the matter was, you didn't last long on Ge'roon if you were soft, even now when it had ceased to be a prison colony at the end of the Sellan wars and was now more of a weigh station for smugglers, thugs, and people it was better not to ask about. If anything, the place was more dangerous now than it had been when the guards had run it. While still not the most dangerous of places, Ge'roon 2 was nothing you could consider safe.

It was, however, a good place to hide. The people here had long ago learned not to ask questions or speak about what they saw.

It was that last part that interested the figure that was currently ghosting through the shadows. He was a dangerous man, anyone able to catch a glimpse of him would have been able to tell you that. Large in more than stature, he stood slightly over six feet with a wealth of muscles hardened by a harder life, not the kind you got working out in a gym to try and impress. Oh no, these were muscles you earned the hard way…to survive. The black clothes, the shaved head, the shimmering silver eyes winking in the near pitch of night all bespoke that danger. But there was something more, an aura of restrained violence, violence he was comfortable with, calmed for the moment but more than able to spring forth at enough provocation. It was in the way he stood, the way he moved, the way he didn't. He was not one to cross, the message was clear.

There were many on Ge'roon 2 you wouldn't want to mess with, in the years since it had stopped being a prison it hadn't stopped housing criminals. To the contrary. Since the people here knew better than to ask questions or talk about what they saw it had become a wonderful hiding place for those that didn't want to be found. A place to rest, well, rest as much as you could being surrounded by other criminals. A place to recoup. But men like this were still something to be wary of, and everyone here knew better. If they saw him they could tell you the same.

Not that anyone really saw him as he moved tonight, though, sliding through the darkened places, gliding through alleys and over roof tops as silent as the shadow of death. Riddick had used Ge'roon 2 to hide before himself, but tonight he wasn't hiding. No, tonight he was hunting. And the hunter was never, never seen. Not until it was too late.

As he crept along one roofline, invisible to the few eyes that moved along the alley below, he let the back part of his mind wander, trusting his instincts and experience to keep him moving towards his target undetected. Three years. It had been three years since he had escaped that damned, eclipsed planet and its monsters. Three years since he had taken a kid and a holy man with him into the dark of space. Three years since the old Riddick had died and new one had taken his place.

Trouble had been, he didn't know how to be that new Riddick. He knew that there would be mercs on his neck no matter that he had been reported as dead. All it took was for one person to recognize him and alerts would blaze up across the galaxy. Sooner or later it would happen and they'd come for him. Riddick knew mercs, knew them like you know the mildew on your bathroom tiles. When they came after him they would use anything they could to get the jump on him, even if it meant putting innocents in the way. They'd use Jack and Imam to get to him, and Riddick couldn't have that. They were the only people who'd ever given a shit about him in his whole life, the only people he'd ever given a shit about. He refused to risk them.

He'd planned to leave, almost as soon as they set down on New Mecca. He'd planned to stay only long enough to make sure they were settled and safe before he took off, drawing whatever danger was bound to follow him away. That first night, though, plans had changed.

He'd come home late from what he liked to call some 'recon' work. He'd been sizing up ships and freighters, making plans for his exit. As soon as he'd opened the door to Imam's house the screams had hit him. _Jack_. He'd been upstairs in a flash, shiv in hand, bloody murder in his heart for whoever it was that was making his little girl scream like that. What he'd found wasn't what he'd been expecting.

He'd rushed to Jack's room to find Imam's entire family there. His wife, Assha, holding their two year old little girl, Zeeza, was trying to keep the little child calm herself. Riddick remembered how shocked he'd been to discover the holy man had a family of his own, or how readily they'd accepted him after hearing what he'd done to save Imam's life. Riddick looked farther to find Jack curled into a corner of the room, completely wild, hysterical, and Imam crouched near her trying to calm her. It wasn't working. Riddick strode past the obviously worried Assha and over towards them. As soon as Jack caught a glimpse of him she'd thrown herself at him. For a moment Riddick had thought she was attacking, lost in whatever hysteria had gripped her, but instead she just latched onto him and sobbed into his chest.

A nightmare. That's what it had been. Jack had had a nightmare, though whether it was about that damned planet or something else Riddick couldn't say. Even though she'd been calming she wasn't exactly coherent. Eventually she stopped crying, wound down to sniffles and whimpers, before falling into an exhausted sleep. He'd found out from Imam that she had awoken screaming about two hours before and no matter what they had tried Imam had not been able to calm her. It wasn't until Riddick had come back that she had managed to snap out of it.

Kind of ironic, really. The deadly killer, the big, bad, evil of the universe was the only thing that made her feel safe.

That wasn't the last, either. It was the same the next night and the night after that. Jack would wake up screaming and Riddick was the only one able to calm her. His plans had changed after that. There was no way he was leaving Jack to deal with that on her own. He knew it was dangerous for him to stay, but he didn't have a choice. Somehow he'd have to find a way for it to work. What good would it do to protect them by leaving if Jack went insane? No, he'd have to make sure she got better before he could leave. Now if only he could find a way…

It was easier said than done. It meant he needed to get some kind of work. Imam may be well respected in his community as a holy man, but priests, no matter their cloth, never made a whole lot of money. And Imam had his own family to support. It would be hard enough to feed and clothe one extra body, not to mention two. Riddick had planned to send money back for Jack's care once he was gone, but work would have been easier to get out where he wouldn't have to worry so much about anyone tracking him back to them. Unfortunately, work meant the possibility of being recognized, which meant mercs, which meant danger for his strange little family. And that was unacceptable.

What he hadn't counted on, of course, was his luck. Riddick had always had the oddest luck. It was the same luck that had gotten him crashed on that planet but let him survive the drop. It was the same luck that put him up against monsters that would scare nightmares but got him through. The luck that stuck him with a kid and a holy man, two people that should certainly fear and despise him, and turned them into something closer to a family than Riddick had ever known. It wasn't good luck, it wasn't bad, it was just odd.

A smirk touched his lips as he crouched down on the edge of a roof, letting the memory wash over him…

_Riddick had been slinking through the dark, working his way into one of the worse parts of New Mecca. It was in these kinds of places where he might be able to find some work, the kind of work he did. Unfortunately, it was in these parts where he was most likely to be recognized. So he stuck to the shadows, had grown his hair somewhat, and even suffered the itchy annoyance of the goatee on his chin. It had been a month since his decision to stay until Jack got better and he'd started this disguise and he'd yet to be able to find work. He was starting to get a little desperate, that was why he was here._

_A slight noise drew his attention farther down the alley he'd been using. It was the scuff of boots, the 'snick' of blades being pulled from sheaths, the click of a gun's hammer being drawn. Riddick immediately shrunk back into the shadows, intending to slip away before the people farther ahead noticed his presence. Usually he didn't worry about trouble, but trouble brought attention, and attention brought a greater chance of recognition. Before when he would have grinned at the prospect of a little excitement now he did his best to avoid it._

"_You're dead, old man," a male voice ground out, making Riddick pause. He'd heard that kind of voice far too many times in his life. Hard, cold, cruel, and filled the kind of anger that turned a regular jerk into a killer._

"_We're gonna rip you up," another voice said, followed by the harsh sound of two blades sliding against each other._

_Without really realizing it, Riddick had moved towards the voices, rounding a corner to take in the scene. What he saw didn't make him happy. There were twelve young men, all armed in one way or another, surrounding an older man who had his back almost pressed up against the wall of the dead-end section of alley. Cornered. The older man had to be at least ten years older than Riddick himself, though larger. He seemed to stand about six-five and though his clothing was loose it didn't hide the fact that his large frame didn't hold much in the way of extra weight. But still, he was one middle-aged, unarmed man against twelve, young, armed ones._

_Carolyn had once said she knew a part of him wanted to rejoin the human race. He'd told her he wouldn't know how. It wasn't exactly the truth. The fact of the matter was that he had never left the human race, he just knew more of it. In his years he'd seen the best and worst that humanity had to offer, mostly the worst. Humans, as a species, were inherently violent. They were dominators, by nature, their lack of natural defenses forcing them to develop more cunning and dangerous things in order to survive. Their minds. It was a standard human thought that if they couldn't stand up physically to the predators they would stand above them and make sure the predators couldn't stand up at all. If they dominated, they were safe. It was because of that that they rose to the top of the food chain no matter where they went. _

_He'd seen it all in his time. Seen people claiming to be 'civilized' put others in chains, in cages, and even to death for the sake of the 'greater good'. He'd seen benevolent governments wage war to protect their own. He'd seen sneak thieves and thugs and killers and worse…each and every one following the same mantra of domination and violence that was humanity's legacy, each in their own way. Each trying to survive. Oh, he didn't have to rejoin the human race, he was most definitely a part of it, perhaps more than most._

_People tended to see him as a stone cold killer. It was true. But there were parts they didn't see…that he wouldn't let them see because doing so would endanger his own continued survival. The fact was, he cared. Perhaps he shouldn't and considering all he'd seen and known in his time it was surprising that he could. But he did, he always had. That was half the reason he got into so much trouble. Problem was the cops didn't really care if you were stopping the asshole from raping your fifteen year old roommate, the fact was you had killed and killing was killing. Besides, who'd believe a forgotten orphan in a hell hole like that anyway?_

_It hadn't really been a conscious thought, but Riddick found himself stepping out of the deeper shadows and lifting his goggles to his forehead to grant him his clearest sight. He could see through them in the night, but it muffled things slightly, usually a sacrifice he was willing to make so others didn't notice the distinctive shine job. But right now he was going to need all the advantage he could get. _

"_I don't think you want to do that," he drawled. The young men spun around, weapons bared. "Twelve against one…ain't exactly fair odds."_

"_Who the fuck are you?" one of the men growled out. That was when Riddick noticed something he should have earlier but hadn't since their backs had been to him. Each of them was wearing a badge on their vest…a gang badge. That's why there were so many against one man, this was a gang thing. Shit, normally he didn't mess with that. He may care, he may be good, but he wasn't suicidal. Gangs were rarely a one time thing. They were like cockroaches, stomp on one and twelve more came out of the woodworks. Well, too late now._

"_Someone who doesn't like unfair odds," he responded quietly, putting his most forbidding expression on and saw a couple of them pale, probably noticing the shine._

"_Well," the apparently leader said, "then I guess you're someone that's gonna die too."_

_Riddick tipped his head to the side slightly as the leader brought a gun up to bare. He dodged just as he saw the finger squeeze, the blast missing him by a hair, and in the next second had the youth split open. He stared into the shocked face, his own jaw clenched at having to kill the kid. But the fact was that if he hadn't, he'd be dead himself. In this game of domination, Riddick had won._

_There had been a moment of shocked silence, and then the night had erupted. In what had felt like an hour but was probably less than five minutes it was over, and the only people left standing in that dead end ally was Riddick and the not-so-old man. Riddick had just turned to leave when he heard the other speak._

"_Well, well, well. Never thought I'd run into you of all people. Not like this."_

_Riddick turned slowly at the voice. It was younger sounding that he had expected, and held the lilt of an Irish brogue that was rare out here in the Hellion system. His blood had gone cold and his hand clenched on his shiv as he turned to face the man. He was standing there, in the dark, with a slight smile on his face, completely at ease._

"_So," the man continued, "you're Riddick."_

_Shit. He'd been recognized, just like he feared. The man must have seen his hand clench tighter on the hilt of the shiv because he held up a placating had._

"_Whoa, there, old son," he said, a slight amusement in his voice. "'Taint nothin' to get all riled for."_

"_You a merc?" Riddick ground out dangerously._

"_A merc? Well, now that's just down right insultin'. To think, bein' mistaken for one of those spineless, dickless, cum suckers. I like to think I'm a might better than that, and at least a touch more dangerous than those gutless cred-whores."_

_Riddick would have thought that he was just trying to be convincing to someone who obviously hated mercs, but the insults rolled too comfortably and well practiced off the man's tongue. Looked like he'd found someone who despised them almost as much as he did. And he was willing to believe the 'dangerous' part, considering that while middle-aged and with just touch of a paunch, the man had managed to drop five of the twelve and come out just as uninjured as Riddick himself. _

"_So who are you?" Riddick asked, narrowing his eyes._

_The man smacked himself on the forehead, a slightly sheepish, still amused look on his face. "Ach, now where are me manners? Me old ma, God rest her ever-lovin' soul, would surely box my ears if she knew I'd let em slip like that. Name's McKellern," he said, holding out his hand and proving his Irish ancestry with that name, "Ian McKellern. Though folks most call me Tracks."_

_Riddick raised an eyebrow slowly at that, but took the man's hand. It was a surprisingly strong grip. "Odd thing to be called if you're not a merc."_

_McKellern paused, his paw of a hand still basically engulfing Riddick's, and gave him a thoughtful look. "Tell you what," he said, not letting go, "there's a bit of a pub a touch down the road. Not much to look at but the prices are reasonable, they don't water the booze, and you won't go blind lookin' at the wenches. How bout I buy a drink for the man what saved me hide and I'll tell you 'bout it. Might even have a touch of a proposition for you, Richard B. Riddick."_

Against his better judgment Riddick had gone with the man, his curiosity overriding his caution. And there hadn't been a day since where he hadn't thanked Imam's god that he had. Turned out McKellern was as good as his word. The pub was a hole but the liquor and prices were good, and while nothing to really go hard over the serving girls didn't make a man shudder. It wasn't the place, though, that made Riddick so thankful, it was the man himself.

Turned out that McKellern _wasn't_ a merc…he was an IC. An Independent Contractor. He'd heard of them before but until now hadn't really run into any that he was aware of. IC's didn't run the bounty sheets, not unless the person in question had done something to particularly piss them off, and then it was more of a matter of finding a way to get at them without the law getting in the way. The short explanation was that an IC was what a merc might be if they any kind of code or honor. The longer one was a bit more complicated.

IC's were exactly that. They were independently contracted by a number of different types of clients; government, law enforcement, military, private. Some jobs were more above boards that others, some never even saw the boards above their heads. IC's had a basic motto; _Morally right._ While they did everything from tracking people, running investigations, body guarding, and even full on shadow-type ops that was the definite deciding factor. An IC didn't take a job they didn't agree with, no matter what the price. It was also the deciding difference between them and mercs; mercs lived for the money and they'd do anything for it, IC's didn't give a shit about the creds if they didn't agree with the job. More likely than not, if you offered a bad job to an IC not only would they turn you down, but then they'd go after _you_.

Considering the very real service ICs provided for different government and law enforcement agencies they were legally licensed for the work they did, even if some of it would be more than enough to stick anyone else in prison. After all, while not talked about it was fairly well known that IC's considered killing morally right given the circumstances. There were strict protocols for getting licensed, of course, and supposedly there was someone keeping some kind of eye on them, but the fact was that the ICs basically did what they wanted. Thank god they were on the side of the angels. Mostly.

Turned out McKellern, or Tracks as he preferred, wasn't just an IC. He was the head of an entire company of them. They were called The Cerulean Blues, Blues for short. There were other companies of IDs, sure, but the Blues were the best. They were one of the oldest ones out there, in fact, they were the first, and their specialties were wide ranging. What was more, it turned out they'd been keeping an eye on him.

"_I thought IDs didn't run the sheets," Riddick rumbled, leaning back in his seat in the dark, corner booth._

_Tracks smirked and snorted into his drink. "We don't. If we did, do you ken this would be the first time you'd'a meet a Blue?" Riddick's eyes narrowed slightly as the older man took a drink. "Tell me, Riddick, you remember the Foster House on Rysen 7?"_

_Riddick snorted. "How could I forget."_

_Rysen 7. It could be called the beginning of his career. That was the place where he'd made his first kill. Sure, he'd done some stuff before that—fights, stealing, running shit for people who would pay—but all of it had been pretty minor and really just to stay afloat in the gutters. But then the Foster House happened. He'd been in and out of more than a few in his life. Tended to happen when you were abandoned at birth. But this one…this one had been hard. That was the one where the House Master had been one cruel, twisted son of a bitch with a taste for little boys…Riddick had never been a target to his darker desires, mostly because even at sixteen there had never been anything little about him. But his roommate…The House Master had come for little Kenny one night and Riddick had stopped him. But the Master put up a fight and in the end Riddick was the one left breathing. _

_That had been the start of it all, he figured. Usually a sixteen year old would have been sent to juvenile, he'd been in and out of there plenty to. But not this time. Due to his past record for those little things—fights, stealing, running—and his reputation as a trouble maker the judge had decided he would be tried and convicted as an adult. And so he'd entered his first Slam and been branded a murderer on his permanent record. And that ain't shit that can be overlooked. _

_Still, if he'd had to do it again, he would. Kenny had been a sweet kid, full of hope and bright smiles. The only reason he'd been in that Foster House was because his parents had died in a skimmer accident and his only living relative, his older brother, was away on a mission for the Forces. He wasn't hard like Riddick, hadn't lived in the slime and the trash. He hadn't been raised in misery and despair. Riddick had labeled himself Kenny's protector from damn near the moment he'd walked into their room. There were times he wondered what had ever happened to Kenny…the little Irish lad…wait a minute…Kenneth McKell…_

_Riddick head snapped up to see the slight smirk on Tracks' face and the slight nodded of acknowledgement. _

"_Me little brother," Tracks said, his expression serious. "He was a late-in-life-child, as they say, a miracle baby. Lot o' years a'tween us. I was already in Service a'fore he entered secondary school. Had just been sent out on a year long mission couple months before our parents died, and didn't find out about it 'til after I got back. I figger it was three maybe four months after you got Slammed for savin' him. Got out after tha'…hired on to Cerulean Blue. Can't hardly take care o' a youngin' when you could be sent out to yer death at the drop o' hat."_

_Riddick nodded slowly and took a sip of his own drink as he digested it. "So…how's Kenny now?"_

_McKellern's eyes flashed up to him, speculative for an instant before lighting with warmth. "Glad you asked. After you killed tha' damn House Master it came out what he was doin'. Kenny and the others got looked after good. He came out it all right, went to school. Got a degree in psychology. We all thought he was goin' to be a coucelor, you know, deal with 'troubled youth' or somewhat. Didn't though…went on, got his teaching license. Opened a training school o' sorts. Takes in kids, most of um street, more of em with a record, finds their strengths, and trains em up to do something. Once done, helps em get jobs. He said it wasn't the kids what were criminals, just that the street didn't give em a choice."_

_Riddick couldn't fight the smile. Yeah, that sounded like Kenny. _

"_You know, he always was a gentle soul," McKellern continued. "But he went right ballistic when word came over the Vid 'bout your escape from that Slam. Madder than a fairy he was, especially 'bout all they were saying of you. That's when I found out about what, exactly, you'd done. Done for him. And **that's** why I'm interested in you."_

"_What," Riddick snorted, "wanna say thanks or some shit? Save it."_

_Tracks' eyes narrowed. "You know, there are a lot of kinds of killers out there in the great starry mess. But did you know that you can tell a lot about just what kind o' killer they are by their first?" Riddick twitched a brow. "It's true! There are soldiers or badge men what kill in the line o' duty and generally throw up afterwards. Petty or angry ones what do it for revenge or passion or whatnot. Those is usually one offs. There those what do it for survival, cause they taint got no other way. One that do it to protect, though those are mostly those what come behind em. And then there are the ones you really gotta worry about. The ones what kill early with a smile on their face and a song in their heart. Those ones…well, those ones should be dropped soon as ya find em."_

"_And me?"_

"_Well, see, that's why I'm interested. You killed to protect Kenny, never gone that far before. But once you had…well, suppose I don't have to tell you there's no going back, not once you get Slammed for it."_

"_Suppose you don't." Riddick narrowed his eyes as he regarded the Irish man, not entirely sure what to think. He sure as hell hadn't ever run into anyone like him before. Not many people drew a distinction between different types of killers. At least not the ones he ran into. "So what's the point of all this?"_

_Tracks smiled at him and lifted his drink, pausing just before it reached his mouth. "I believe I mentioned a proposition…"_

And what a proposition it was. Turned out that Tracks had followed his 'career', spurred on by his brother's encounter and his own curiosity. He'd researched each and every report, and some things that had never even made the scanners. And he'd come to a decision. Right then and there he offered Riddick something he had never dared dream even possible…a new life. He would clear his past, erase it, make way for him to start over without it dogging his heals…if Riddick would agree to become an IC. Tracks would train him, show him the ropes, just what he could and couldn't do…and how to not get caught when he did the later. He didn't even insist that Riddick work for him and his company, just that he consider any jobs that they sent his way.

Of course, he hadn't trusted it. Nothing fell out of the sky like this, not for him. He figured that there had to be some sort of angle, some sort of hook waiting to snag him. Until he realized something…McKellern felt guilty. It was subtle, hard to read even for him, but as he detailed some of his life, the things he'd gone through that first time in the Slam, how it had changed him…he saw it. McKellern blamed himself for what had happened to Riddick, blamed himself for not being there when his parents died, for his brother going into the Foster House, for Riddick having to protect Kenny when he should have been there to make sure it never happened.

Blind generosity Riddick didn't understand, but guilt he did.

And Tracks was just as good as his word. He didn't so much clear his record as he changed it. He changed all of the DNA tags on all of his records and all the other identifiers. And he did it so perfectly and cleanly that it was untraceable, so much so that Riddick didn't doubt he'd done something like this before. Now it didn't matter if they ran as deep of a test as they possibly could, there was absolutely no way to ever prove that he was Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict and murder. Even if they ran a face-print it would come up negative, and Riddick didn't even have to change his face so much as an extra hair. It was perfect, his death on the eclipsed planet now complete.

He was issued all new files and information, marked with his real tags. He was given an IC license as real as the one McKellern had and all the credentials to go with it. A complete history was created, one remarkably close to his actual one but with a few minor alterations. Even his shine job was documented, though in the new history it had been done in a legitimate facility instead of the bowels of a Slam. It was as complete and flawless as could be.

And thus, Rick "Tracer" Reynolds was born.

Turned out that Tracks hadn't needed to do much in the way of training. The IC code was actually rather close to his own, and Riddick had spent so much time dealing with and running from the law that he probably knew it better than McKellern. Really the only thing he'd had to learn was just how to go about getting work, legitimate work that didn't leave a hollow feeling inside his chest at the end. Work he didn't have to shut part of himself off in order to do. Work he could actually be proud of all the way around. Riddick learned eagerly.

And then Tracks had given him something else, on top of all the rest. Refractor lenses. They were top grade and hard to get, and Tracks handed them over with a smile as a 'graduation present'. Refractor lenses were specially designed for shined eyes, designed by the same military that had invented the shine job. Shines had actually been developed for Special Forces soldiers in order to give them an advantage in the deep, dark, and deadly they got sent into. But, as Riddick knew too well, there were draw backs. So the scientists had gotten to work and developed refractors. They were like contact lenses, but much, much better and a hell of a lot more advanced. The protected the hyper sensitive eyes from the light, but at the same time didn't impair the shine in the dark. In fact, in the light vision was returned to almost normal and it granted the shine a certain…clarity.

But more than all of that, it gave Riddick something he'd come to terms with never having again, something he'd never even dreamed of. Color, normal color. The shine job necessarily changed the way he saw, erasing the normal colors of the world for the gray, silver, pink, and purple of the shine. Considering it was what allowed him to see in the dark he learned to live with it and be grateful. But now…now he had it back. Sure, the colors were slightly different, a little washed out, a little back lighted sometimes and the richer the color the more it stood out, but they were real. Out of everything Tracks had done for him this one hit him the most.

He'd actually cried when he'd discovered Jack's eyes were green.

Didn't matter that Tracks said there was nothing owed, Riddick owed.

So for the last three years he'd been Tracer, Independent Contractor and allay to the Blue. His new, flawless identity had granted him a freedom he'd never felt. He was able to stay in New Mecca, stay near Jack and his new 'family'. He was still a loner, probably always would be, but he had them. He was able to watch Jack and little Zeeza grow. He saw Jack get better, helped Imam guide her towards a better, decent life, not the dark track he'd gone down. The work did take him off planet a lot, sometimes for months, but now he had a place to come back to. And the money was excellent. Not only was he able to pay for his and Jack's continued residence, but he helped Imam get a new house. He'd wanted to just buy him one but Imam wasn't one to take. Riddick had to respect that. But in the end, with all the minor adjustments he made to the place, Riddick wound up paying most of it.

And then there was the work itself…

Turned out Tracks had been right about that, too. The man had said he thought Riddick would be good at it, that his skills and experience and mindset would lend to it naturally. He'd been almost completely correct. The only part he wasn't was in Riddick being 'good' at it. He wasn't good, he was phenomenal. In three short years he'd managed to build himself quite the reputation, his skills lending almost perfectly to the contracts he took. He was seen as the best there was in tracking and finding, and right up there with all the rest. At first he'd taken jobs strictly from the Blues but it hadn't been long before he was getting them on his own. And as a true IC he took the ones he wanted and discarded the ones he didn't. No longer did he have to do something that turned his stomach, something that would make him shoot up in a cold sweat from a not-so-sound sleep. Riddick was finally someone that didn't disgust himself anymore.

Not that he wasn't still the biggest, baddest thing out there…he just did it for the right side.

While he got most of his contracts himself these days, the Blue still sometimes sent something his way. Usually it was because they thought he could handle it better than anyone they had. Hell, Tracks had started making noises that he wouldn't mind if Tracer worked for them more in a 'closer' capacity. That was really how he'd gotten the contract he was on right now.

Riddick's lips twisted slightly. The fact was that he wouldn't have even met with the man if Tracks hadn't sent him personally. After three years Riddick still felt he owed the man. But the man he'd sent…what an asshole. If he'd really been the slick shit, cold blooded monster he'd been made out as he would have shived the bastard on sight…even then he was sure as hell tempted once he opened his mouth.

The man was money, and it showed. He was dressed and pressed and so shiny he might as well have just stepped out of his packaging. And it was obvious that he thought Riddick was just below dog shit. He had no idea why the man had come to an IC if he thought them so despicable. Then he'd found out the problem.

His daughter had been kidnapped.

It had happened three weeks ago; her skimmer had been shot out of the air with an EMP gun and when it was found the next day, she was gone. Two days later they'd gotten contacted. Seemed the officials had no leads and nowhere to go. The kidnappers were asking five million credits for her safe return but had apparently been acting shady. Riddick had to snort…shady kidnappers, who'd'a thunk? The man apparently wasn't convinced that they would actually give his daughter back if he paid, though he had more than enough to do so. So he'd hired Riddick to track her down and get her back…for two million.

Riddick didn't like the man, every instinct went into alert about him and then felt the need to bathe in bleach. But according to Tracks the job was valid, and Riddick trusted Tracks to play him straight. While he may not like the man, he couldn't let the daughter suffer for that. Sure, she was probably some spoiled princess, but that was probably the fault of the man right in front of him. Probably she was terrified, her safe little world suddenly stripped away. The dark was a terrifying play to be, but it was even worse for the type that had never left the light.

And let's face it, two million credits? Riddick took the job.

And that was why he was here, crouched on the shadowed ledge of a building, staring across the empty space to a deserted warehouse. He'd taken the job and traced the kidnappers back to here. Ge'roon 2. This warehouse. That's where they were and that's where they were keeping her.

Riddick smirked as he dropped down from the ledge silently. Man but was life inexplicable sometimes. Here he was, big, bad, and evil on his way to save a spoiled socialite from a fate worse than taffeta. An ex-convict, he was now playing the role of the knight in shining armor on his way to rescue a princess.

Man did the universe have one twisted sense of humor.

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AN: Well, that's the first chappie. Hope you liked it. R&R and let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I would very much like to thank my one reviewer, you rock. I'll actually put the full response at the bottom, so look for it there. Anyway, I hope the rest of you are enjoying this so far, I am. And now we get to meet the OFC...not her finest hour, perhaps, but we can't all make a smashing entrance.

Disclaimer: If I actually owned the Riddick-verse don't you think I'd be a lot busier cozying up to the star? Yeah. Damn, now I'm sad I don't…

Summary: Three years after the escape from the monsters Riddick's life has changed. He's been given a new life, a new start, a new job. And now his world's about to be turned upside down again by a pair of strange, blue eyes…

**Warning:** There is a part in this chapter that could be considered some form of citrus...though definition is difficult. Not lemon, not lime, not quite grapefruit because even if you don't like that you can always douse it in sugar. It's more of a...cumquat. Small, odd, vaguely disturbing, you're not sure if you should smile or wince when you're given one and it just seems damn strange that you're not peeling the sucker. That said...there is a reason this is a M rated fic, so you have been warned.

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**Cerulean Blue**

**Chapter 2:**

_**Rescue**_

Riddick slunk slowly through the large warehouse, every sense on alert. This was easy, too damn easy. He'd been a little suspicious when there hadn't been any sentries to bypass, but had figured that there had to be some sort of electronic surveillance. But when he'd scanned for it…nothing. It made him edgy. They had to have someone watching their exterior. You didn't kidnap someone from such a powerful and influential family as the Fallenthorps, someone you were asking five million creds for, and not put up some kind of guard. No, you were damn cautious because someone who could pay that kind of ransom without breaking a sweat was someone who could buy someone like him to make sure they didn't have to.

But so far he'd found nothing. He'd managed to sneak in through a back door, and unguarded back door, without even having to disable an alarm. Okay, that was just stupid…or smart. He couldn't decide which. Perhaps they were trusting the planet they were on to keep them safe, a place where people tended to mind their own business and not go looking for trouble. That was stupid. On a planet full of criminals, sneak thieves and killers you should be doubly cautious with something like this. If anyone had found out just what it was they were doing here, what they were keeping, they'd be up to their asses in trouble. The people around here wouldn't hesitate to try and take her from them in order to get their own ransom. And five million credits was nothing to ignore, people who usually would rather shiv you than look at you would be more than willing to band together for a piece of that pie.

But if there _was_ an alarm then it meant that it was one he couldn't detect, and that was smart. Appear defenseless, put anyone coming in at ease, and then pounce. It was something he might do. Letting the enemy get so far tended to give you a better knowledge about who you were dealing with, just what kind of trouble they could be. And it gave you a chance to find out just who sent them after you.

Riddick was tense as he made his way through the winding maze of the warehouse, trying to decide which one it was. He was planning for smart…but something was telling him deep down that what he was going to get was stupid.

He was leaning more towards 'stupid' as he caught the shimmer of light from around a corner. Okay, this was just getting ridiculous. In a completely darkened warehouse you didn't turn on an unguarded light like that. All it was was a beacon for where you were. Unless it was a trap…

Riddick peaked around the corner, once again thankful for his refractors. In the past such a move would have hurt like hell when the light washed over his unguarded eyes. He would have had to pull down his goggles, but that could prove an impediment in certain cases, like if the lights suddenly went out again and he had to remove them to see perfectly. Sometimes that was hard to do in the middle of a fight, especially if your opponent was suddenly swinging whatever thing they had wildly. But the lenses reacted instantly to the light, protecting his eyes and granting him just as perfect vision.

_Okay…definitely leaning towards stupid. Hell, it's a full on slant._ Riddick drawled mentally. There, almost directly under the bare bulb, was one of the kidnappers. He was a slightly young man, probably somewhere in his twenties, and kind of scruffy looking. From his coloring and features he could have been from New Mecca or one of the other surrounding towns of Hellion prime that were mostly of Arabic decent. His clothes were mismatched and soiled and Riddick could smell him from here. Apparently he hadn't heard of this miraculous invention called 'soap' yet. He was sitting in a chair, tipped back on its hind legs, reading what looked like a porno rag. Riddick's lips twisted in disgust as the man's hand went down to rub at the bulge in his crotch.

_I should just kill the fuck now and spare my eyes._

It was obvious that he was guarding something, or at least was supposed to be. There was a door on the far side of his chair with what looked like an ancient padlock keeping it closed. _Shit, where did they get that? I didn't think they even made those pieces of shit anymore. What did they do? Rob an antique store?_ Considering that there was only one thing in this shithole of a warehouse that was worth anything, it was pretty obvious just what the lonely stick-jockey was sitting in front of.

Riddick had been scanning the surrounding area with every sense he possessed…though his sense of smell was pretty well blocked by the acrid odor wafting off the solitary guard. Still…he didn't hear anyone else, didn't see any sign, didn't feel any vibrations of footsteps or air shifts that would indicate someone coming. And considering the torture his nose was undergoing he sure as hell wasn't going to taste anything. He was considering just how he was going to approach the guard when the tell-tale sound of a descending zipper caught his attention.

_Oh, hell no._ Riddick had been vaguely aware on the edges of his senses while he scanned the rest of the area that the rubbing on the front of the man's pants had increased. Looked like he was going for broke now. Not only was that a sign that he wasn't expecting anyone to come up on him, meaning there was no one else in the immediate area Riddick had to worry about, but there was no way Riddick was going to suffer through watching _that_. He'd seen more than enough of that shit in the Slam where so many were driven to their most basic instincts of pleasure and pain. Not that he had anything again Miss Rosy Palm and her five sisters, but he sure as fuck was not going to watch another man dance with them.

Without further ado, Riddick stepped around the corner as calm as you please. The man didn't even look up as the zipper made its way down, his eyes glued to the magazine. Riddick walked towards him, a bemused expression on his face, wondering just when he was going to be noticed. The man didn't seem to have any idea that a murderous, dangerous monster was strolling up to him as he started to fish inside his pants for his little friend. Considering how much fishing he was doing it must have been a very little friend.

It wasn't until Riddick was standing directly in front of him, when his shadow fell over him to be precise, that the man looked up. Riddick saw him freeze for a moment to take him in, working from about waist level visible over the magazine, up, up, up and finally to his face. He saw the man's mud-brown eyes go wide and the blood drain from his face and let a dark smirk touch his face. In the light, because of the refractors, the shine job wasn't evident. But that didn't mean his eyes were any less intimidating, perhaps even more so. The natural color of his eyes was a dark, dark brown that was nearly black. The lenses shading capabilities enhanced that, erasing the lines between iris and pupil, making his eyes seem like one, deep, dark, soulless oblivion. Jack said it made him look evil. Riddick rather liked the effect.

For a moment everything seemed to pause, time at a standstill of shock and fear. And then the man jerked back to life, lurching to his feet and opening his mouth to yell. He never got the chance. Riddick's arm lashed out and his hand caught the guard around the throat, squeezing just enough to keep him from making a sound and pinning him to the wall behind him. The guard's hands were quickly scrabbling and his, trying to release the pressure, to get some kind of air as he hung about an inch above the ground. Then…he twitched.

Riddick blinked once, slowly, hoping against hope that twitch didn't mean what he thought it did. The guard stilled, his eyes rolling down. Reluctantly Riddick let his own follow…and had to fight with everything he had to keep his face blank when he did. Apparently he'd either managed to get his dick out before Riddick loomed or it had slipped out on its own during the very brief fray. And while the man didn't seem to _like_ the prospect of his eminent demise, apparently he was alone in that. Riddick watched in horror as the man's pathetic little stick pulse and throbbed, weeping for joy and jumping as the man twitched again.

_Oh. Fuck. No._

Riddick wasn't generally a closed minded individual. Hell, he'd probably seen more perverted shit in his life than the people that made that porn rag this guy had been jacking off to could even dream up. Usually he didn't care what people did to themselves behind closed doors, or even in a dark alley for that matter, but _this_ was crossing a line. He _was_ just going to choke the guy out but the incredulous revulsion that filled him, along with the heterosexual fear of what might happen if he continued to strangle the apparent gasper, called for a change in plan.

With a quick twist of the hand at the man's throat there was a sharp _crack_ as Riddick effectively snapped his neck with one hand. He dropped him quickly, tossing him to the side, just in case, and stared down at the body with a twist of revulsion on his lips. He unconsciously wiped the hand he'd been holding him with on his pants as he turned away from the dead man and his still happy friend. As far as he was concerned, he'd earned his two million right there.

Pushing back thoughts of bleach baths and burning clothes, Riddick turned to the door, digging out a small tool from his pants pocket. It wasn't any longer or wider around than a cigarette, in fact, if it weren't for the matt-black metal of its casing, it could be mistaken for such. He aimed the little tube at the ancient padlock and depressed the barely visible activation button, the small laser-cutter shooting out and making short work of the old metal. Riddick caught the body of the lock as it dropped away to avoid noise, probably more habit than necessary. Considering the guard, he pretty well figured that the answer to his previous question was not just 'stupid' but fell more in the 'brain dead' category. Still, even a stupid fuck could get off a lucky shot.

He removed the rest of the lock and slowly pushed open the door, actually a little surprised that the hinges didn't shriek like a bad horror movie. He paused to see if there was anyone else in the room and once satisfied that there was only one pushed the door the rest of the way open and slipped inside. There, sitting in the middle of the windowless room, tied hand and foot to a chair, was his intended package.

Charlene Miranda Fallenthorp. As much as he didn't fit the knight in shinning armor image, she sure had the princess one down pat. In the dark the shine job tended to take over his color perception, even with the lenses. Mostly he just tended to see a hint of the actual colors in the dark, but thanks to the light from the hallway he could make hers out a bit more. Even with the dim he could tell that she was a fair skinned, blonde haired beauty. Probably had big blue eyes too, but they were hidden behind the swath of dirty cloth they'd blindfolded her with. And even though she was dirty and a little worse for her three weeks of abduction, she still screamed money. Her clothes were expensive, her fingernails, now chipped and dirty, obviously once held a manicure, and her skin was near flawless.

And she'd noticed him.

Riddick's brow furrowed momentarily when he realized that she'd sat straight up and was now craning her sightless head around as though trying to locate just where he was. Now how had she managed that? The door hadn't made any noise as it had opened and he sure as hell hadn't made a sound. Her blindfold was too thick for any light to get through and while he was sure she would have been able to smell the guard from a thousand paces, Riddick actually believed in showers. And yet it was obvious that she'd sensed him somehow.

Riddick took a few, silent steps to her side, but she showed no knowledge of just where in the room he was. He knelt down in front of her and very gently touched her shoulder. She jumped, probably would have jumped right out of the chair if her wrists weren't tied down to the arms and her ankles to the legs with another wrapped around her waist and the back of the chair. Riddick could hear her screech, muffled behind the thick tape they'd wrapped not only over her mouth, but completely around her head, trapping her golden colored hair underneath.

Damn, just what had she said to annoy them so much as to pull that? Tape hurt bad enough when removed only from your mouth, the way they had it here would rip out chunks of hair along with it if you didn't take your time. Then again, considering her father, he figured she'd probably whined and bitched and complained until they'd decided to shut her up. Before becoming an IC he hadn't had a whole lot of contact with the 'upper classes', but what he had since then was more than enough to give him a picture of just what a spoiled little princess could do to annoy you.

Hell, he'd almost killed his charge the first time he took a body guarding job.

"Easy," he rumbled softly to her, feeling her tense under his hand, "easy now Princess. I'm Tracer, and I'm here to take you home."

He felt her relax slightly, but there was still tension in the muscles under his hand. She turned her head towards the sound of his voice and leaned it forward slightly. He thought it was just a regular reaction until he caught her taking delicate sniffs. So, she was trying to see if he was who he said he was or one of the unwashed idiots. Interesting.

"I'm gonna remove the tape from your mouth," he said in the same, near whispered rumble, "but I'm gonna have to cut it first to keep from snatching you bald. Don't go jumping around when you feel the metal, I don't want to nick you."

She seemed to pause slightly and then gave a brief nod. Riddick carefully worked a thin blade between the adhesive tape and her cheek, feeling her go completely still. Well, at least she seemed to have some sense. A lot of people would freak at the feeling of a blade on their skin. Even with the warning he'd given they tended to twitch. But she just held completely and totally still until he'd worked the blade all the way under and then slit the tape. It was the same for the other side.

"Okay," he said, having found in the past that keeping talking tended to keep rescuees from panicking, "I'm going to pull it off quick now. It's gonna hurt, try to keep quiet."

She gave another little nod and he felt her tense again as she braced. He grabbed one end of the tape and gave a sharp tug, ripping it off her face. The woman's lips automatically pressed together, muffling the small squeak that escaped her. After a moment they opened.

"_Ooooowwww_," she breathed out almost silently. She started working her lips around in a way that would have been comical if Riddick didn't know just how much that had hurt. He watched her tongue flick out and rub against her abused mouth, lingering where there was an obviously split that had broken open when he'd removed the tape. His eyes narrowed as he caught the slight swelling at the corner of her mouth and the blood that was starting to trickle down. The fuckers had clocked her a good one. Damn, she must have really pissed them off. What she whispered next, though, caught him by surprise.

"Those cock-sucking, mother-fucking, two balled _bitches!_" she whispered furiously. "I don't suppose you could peal my lips off that, I might want them back later."

Riddick blinked and fought off a smirk. Okay, so the Princess had some spunk. And one hell of a dirty mouth. Where the hell had a little socialite like her learned words like that?

Riddick shook his head and reached for her face, taking softly once again. "I'm gonna remove your blindfold now."

He made short work of the dirty cloth and pulled it off. He saw the woman's eyes open and immediately snap closed with a pained grunt, her head turning away from the light. Apparently she'd been blind folded a while if the light from the hallway hurt her eyes. When she started to blink them open, watering against what little light was now assaulting them, her face was only about four inches away from his where he was starting to work on her bindings.

He paused as they blinked open all the way and latched on to his. Damn…he'd been right about them being blue. But the color…Riddick found himself staring at them. With the lenses he could see color, but the richer the color the better he could see it, and her eyes were practically glowing in the dim light. They were a strange, shocking, rich shade of blue that he didn't think he'd ever seen before. He tried to think of the name of the shade as he stared into them, seemingly trapped by their strangeness.

_Cerulean…_his mind breathed. Huh. How ironic.

He watched as the blue eyes blinked and snapped out of the strange trance. The woman, Charlene, smiled slightly at him, radiating nervousness.

"Umm, hi," she whispered. "So, uh, you are rescuing me, right?"

Riddick blinked for a moment and then scowled as her eyes drifted to the bonds he'd paused at working on. With a mental growl and head shake he went back to it. He got her hands undone and she immediately grasped at her writs, rubbing and shaking them like she was trying to work some life back into them. He cut through the binding at her waist next then moved to her legs. Well, at least she was wearing pants. It would make the escaping easier, that and the fact that he didn't find himself staring up one of those scraps of cloth that seemed to be in fashion under the dubious title of 'skirt'.

"Can you walk?" he asked quietly, staring up at her from where he'd finished cutting through the last of the bond holding her ankle to one leg of the chair.

The woman paused in her rubbing and looked down, not at him, but at her own legs. She bit her lip and shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

Riddick felt an eyebrow twitch up. "Are you hurt?"

She gave him a strange look, like she hadn't expected the question and after a moment shook her head. "No, well, not really. But they've kept me like this for a while. I stopped being able to feel my legs about four hours ago."

Riddick's brow furrowed. Four hours? "How long have you been tied up like this?"

The woman blinked and looked down at her wrist, revealing that the morons had failed to remove her crono. "Uh, well, I guess about ten hours this time. Let's just say that I seriously hope wherever you're taking me has a bathroom."

_This time?_ Well, shit. How many times had they tied her up like this? Maybe they weren't quite as stupid as he'd thought. Tying someone up in a position like this for any length of time impeded the blood flow to the lower extremities and pinched the nerves. It would effectively make the subject's legs useless, making escape all that much harder. The fact that she'd managed to retain any feeling in her legs for the six hours she claimed was something pretty amazing. Most lost feeling after two. He frowned deeper as what else she said sunk in. It was also fuckin' cruel. The process to loosing feeling was painful, getting it back even worse. And they hadn't let her relieve herself in all that time? Granted, the pretty Princess probably hadn't even considered the vile notion of soiling herself. Then again, considering that he was going to have to carry her, he couldn't really bitch about that kind of prissiness.

Riddick took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. Yup, he was going to have to carry her. That long without proper blood flow would take some time to normalize and it would be fucking painful once it started to. He looked her over again, acknowledging details that he'd taken in before but not really paid attention to. Well, she was small, at least there was that. Probably only about five-seven and she looked like she weighted almost nothing. He could probably strap her to his back and almost forget about her. He didn't doubt that he'd carried bags in the past that weighed more than her.

_Why the hell is it that these rich bitches think 'starved' is an appealing look?_ He wondered as he snatched back up one of the longer sections of rope. He turned around and backed up towards her, looking over his shoulder when she failed to move. She was looking down at him with a confused look on her face, one eyebrow arched in question.

"Wrap your arms around my neck and scoot forward as much as you can. I'm gonna have to carry you out of here and I need my arms free."

He saw her brow arch a little higher as something flashed through her eyes that looked vaguely like ironic amusement, but she complied, leaning forward to wrap her arms around him. She missed his neck, though, wrapping them around his shoulders. He was about to say something when he felt her arms tighten around him and her body shift. She was pulling herself forward. He scooted back even further as he felt her useless legs brush on either side of him and soon her front was pressed against his back. He could feel her breathing only a little hard against him, the muscles in her stomach and arms unclenching as she rested and changed his opinion slightly. She was thin, tiny compared to him, but she wasn't a waif. Maybe a little malnourished and dehydrated from her confinement, but there were some muscles under those designer clothes.

He looped the rope over the both of them twice, shifting it so it wrapped around her lower back and under her butt, making something like a cradle, before tying it tight. He used another length of the rope they'd wrapped her up with to tie her knees to each other a little lower so her legs wouldn't flop. He felt her arms shift higher to lightly but firmly loop around his neck and not strangle him. Once he felt she was secure enough he stood up. Huh, she was a little heavier than she looked…must be the muscle. Still, he was right when he thought he'd carried heavier loads than her. While muscle weighed more than fat, she was basically just a slightly bigger feather.

"You ready for this?" he asked, turning his head ever so slightly.

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely," she drawled back and Riddick fought a smile and headed out of the room.

As they made their way down the hall he felt her turn slightly, looking at the thing he was studiously ignoring.

"Did you do that?" she asked in a barely there whisper. Riddick jerked his head once in a nod. "Damn, now that's what I call a stiff." Riddick's jaw clenched as a mixture of surprise at her glib comment in the face of death and the memory of just why he'd killed the bastard.

"What an embarrassing way to be found," she went on in a light, conversational tone. "I suppose they'll have to cremate him. Can't imagine how they'll close the casket."

A growl escaped him before he could stop it. "Do you mind?"

He felt her tense on his back. "Sorry. Defense mechanism. You know, laugh before you cry."

Riddick sighed internally. Well shit. Here she was trying to be a good little rescue and not freak out and he snapped at her. It wasn't all that often he felt sorry for things like that but he had to remind himself just what she'd been through. Probably all of this was terrifying to her. People like her didn't tend to admit the darker parts of life existed much less ever have to deal with them, and she was dealing with it the best she could, trying to make herself laugh instead of breaking down.

"Forget it," he huffed out, trying to gentle his tone. "Just try to stay quiet. I don't know where all these guys are and we don't need them coming down on us."

"Rasha was the only one here," she said, keeping her voice to more of a whisper. He turned his head slightly towards her as he paused in a darkened corner. "The…well, former guard. There were eight others, but they're all off somewhere. Heard them say something about a party going down at the North Light Docks. Said they might as well get some fun in before the bosses showed up tomorrow."

Riddick turned his head a little further, catching a glimpse of slightly dirty, blonde hair spilled over his shoulder. "And they told you this?"

He felt her shrug. "No, I overheard. I don't think they realized I speak that dialect of Arabic."

Interesting. "And these bosses?" he asked, continuing on, keeping one ear tuned to her whispered reply and the rest of his senses on the surrounding area. Whether she was right or not it was better to be aware, but any information she could give him would be useful, especially if there might be some sort of pursuit.

"From what I could get, this was a kidnap for hire," she said, her voice starting to tremble ever so slightly, though with fear, exhaustion, or some other emotion he wasn't quite sure. "They only ever called them 'the bosses', but I got the feeling that they were someone big. Strange, though. My father doesn't have any dealings in the Nepart System. That's where they said the bosses were coming from."

Riddick's jaw clenched. Her father better fuckin' _not_ have any dealing in the Nepart System, or Riddick was going to shiv the bastard himself. The Nepart System was relatively small with only five planets and a dozen or so moons, and of that only three of the planets and half the moons were habitable. But they were an 'owned' system, owned by one of the nastier organized crime syndicates. Every single person, place, and thing in them was under their control. While it was most likely that they had kidnapped the ultra-rich Fallenthorp heir-apparent as a scheme to gain funding it was also possible that it was some sort of retribution for a previous deal gone sideways.

Riddick felt his anger start to churn low in his gut. Her father had said that he wasn't convinced they would return his daughter if paid, and if the Nepart Syndicate was involved then he was probably right. Which meant that he had to know they were involved or at least suspect it. Which meant that he had to have a reason to…and he hadn't even so much as whispered a word of warning to him about it. If he had he might not have taken the job, or at least upped the price. The Nepart were not a type of trouble he wanted to deal with, and certainly not one he wanted to risk bringing back home with him.

His anger silencing him, Riddick finally slipped out of the warehouse and into the darkness of an alley nearby. He wouldn't be able to take the same route as he had to get here, not with him having to carry her, but he'd planned on that anyway. There weren't many people with his strength or agility or stamina and while it was nothing for him to run the rooflines, slip down into alleys, creep along ledges, and even leap silently from one building to another it certainly wasn't something he expected a newly rescued kidnap victim to be able to do, even if their legs were working.

The small moon had set just before he'd entered the warehouse, as planned, and Riddick navigated the nearly pitch black alleys and streets with the ease of a night creature. He could feel his passenger stretching up slightly, her head turning this way and that as she tried to make out the things around her in the dark. Her arms started to tighten slightly as they took one winding turn after another.

"Please tell me you know where we're going," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear in the dark before she pulled back slightly. "Because I can't see a fucking thing."

He chuckled deeply in his chest, feeling her body absorb the vibrations. "Don't tell me you're scared of the dark, Princess," he drawled snidely at her, feeling her stiffen and chuckling again.

"No," she hissed out. "I happen to be a night person. What I'm scared of is getting lost in this god-forsaken place or jumped by a bunch of hooligans with delusions of grandeur while I'm strapped on like a sack of so much flower because my legs don't fucking work!" She paused and drew in a slightly panting breath in her anger. "That, and I'm about to pee my fucking pants from all this jostling, and I don't think that's something either of us want."

While Riddick had to applaud her for her bravado that last little bit made him stiffen. No, definitely not something he wanted. He'd had to deal with enough disgusting things tonight, and he'd never been one for golden showers.

"Can you hold it for fifteen more minutes?" he asked, completely serious in face of the threat to his back. "We're just a couple minutes from my skimmer, and only ten from there to my ship."

He felt her forehead drop to his shoulder and her jaw clench. "Just hurry up and try to walk a little smoother and we may just find out."

Riddick snorted, not appreciating her tone, but moved on in silence. He did, however, try to keep from jostling her more than necessary. He'd lived through a lot of disgusting things in his time, but he'd never actually been peed on. It wasn't an experience he was eager to have.

As good as his word they reached the skimmer in just a couple minutes. Charlene had kept her forehead pressed into his shoulder and her jaw clenched, hopefully concentrating on thoughts of control. He touched the three hidden panels on it to deactivate the security measures and keyed it open. He settled his package on the edge of the passenger seat of the two seater and cut the ties with his shiv. He felt her let go of his neck and turned to help her scoot into a decent position. He strapped her in as she settled back with her head titled, jaw clenched, and eyes squeezed closed. If she could have moved her legs Riddick was willing to bet one of them would be jiggling up and down or crossed over the other.

He settled into his own seat, enabled the crafter and after a quick check of the systems and security reading, made fast time to where his ship was docked. He turned a ten minute trip into a six minute one, not liking the way Charlene's arms were starting to shake as she gripped herself. Either she was at the end of her control or the shock of all of this was starting to set in. Neither was a good thing.

He sent the secured channel code to his ship as he neared and the hatch opened, allowing him to drive right into the bay. He was out and around the other side before the hatch doors had finished closing, the security locks and protocols sounding green. He scooped her out and carried her farther into the ship towards the mess. It was the closest bathroom to the bay. He settled her in there and tried not to take offense when she slapped his hands away as he made to remove her pants for her.

"I can handle that myself," she hissed at him. He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest as she sighed. "Sorry, it's just…just…fuck. I can't pee with you standing there."

Riddick snorted and made his way out, closing the door behind him and shaking his head. Of all the ways he'd had a retrieval go, that was the strangest. Sure they weren't off planet yet, so technically they weren't clear, but it would take a damn army to get into his ship without his say so. Of all the ways that could have gone…

_Yep. I definitely earned that two million. _

* * *

AN: Ah, a day in the life of Riddick. Well, I hope you liked it, just not rotten fruit please, my place is enough of a mess. Please, _please_ review so I know how I'm doing. Like it, hate it, wish to burn it...let me know!

**Reviewer Response**:

**opah:** Thanks so much for biting! And I'm glad you like it so far. I had a lot of fun coming up with the IDs and I couldn't help but think that they would be absolutely perfect for him. And you're right, twitterpatted females annoy me. Yes, there will be romance later on, but I can never just jump into that. I hope you still like the fic!


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